As the brain of man is the speck of dust in the universe that thinks, so the leaves--the fern and the needled pine and the lattice...d frond and the seaweed ribbon--perceive the light in a fundamental and constructive sense. The flowers looking in from the walled garden through my window do not, it is true, see me. But their leaves see the light, as my eyes can never do. They take it, as it forever spills away radiant into space in a golden waste, to a primal purpose. They impound its stellar energy, and with that force they make life out of the elements. They breathe upon the dust, and it is a rose. Say that this is done with neither thought nor passion, and by something other than will. True that a plant may not think; neither will the profoundest of men ever put forth a flower. Of the use and the beauty of flowering there can be no shade of doubt. It is a rare thought of which as much can be said.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Tree at my window, window tree, My sash is lowered when night comes on;... But let there never be curtain drawn Between you and me.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
I wonder if it's ethical to watch a man with binoculars and a long-focus lens? D'ya suppose it's ethical even if you prove that he... didn't commit a crime? I'm not much on rear window ethics.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Who is at my window, who, who? It's the blind cuckoo, mulling... the old song over. The old song is about fear, about tomorrow and next year. Timor mortis conturbat me, he sings....LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Then is what you see through this window onto the world so lovely that you have no desire whatsoever to look out through any other... window?--and that you even make an attempt to prevent others from doing so?LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »